


Kiss Me, Son of God

by not_worth_a_bean



Category: Malcolm in the Middle
Genre: Aggressive Overthinking, Alt Title: Malcolm Overthinking being Bi for 4000 words, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Gen, I can't believe I have to say this, The whole family appears in at least some capacity, but there is no incest in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25861828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_worth_a_bean/pseuds/not_worth_a_bean
Summary: Malcolm tends to think over all the options, following the threads to the end so he can know what misery waits at the end of each path. Unfortunately, doing the same with his sexuality doesn't seem to work.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Kiss Me, Son of God

It’s easy to know who you are when you have an IQ of 165. Malcolm is confident in himself, in worn flannels and socks with holes and words that come out too fast. And when he trips over himself, gets himself into trouble when he can’t stop some insult or some shitty big word, he bites his nails down into stubs then bites the skin around them. Sometimes, late at night, he remembers back to when he studied all those books on general psychology then pushes thoughts of generalized anxiety disorders away because like his family could afford a therapist anyway. 

Anyway, all of this to say that Malcolm knows who he is. And he doesn’t need someone with a degree in how to talk to teenagers to tell him. Or help him work it out. Malcolm knows he pushes people away. He knows he relearns the same lesson again and again. He knows he’s too caustic for his own good. He knows he’s probably at least a little depressed. Most importantly, right now anyways, Malcolm knows that he likes girls. 

He likes it when they smile at him, soft. He likes how girls smell sweet, like fruit or flowers or fresh laundry. He likes it when he talks and they laugh gently instead of ignoring him (or yelling at him). He likes it when they talk about something they like, and their entire body lights up. But that’s just the problem. As much as he likes girls, he can’t help but notice. 

Reece teases him about being gay, and Malcolm knows he isn’t. But back in middle school, Dabney stood closer to him than some other guys ever allow, but Malcolm let it happen. And other times, during one of the few times the guy would look away from the board or his notebook during the class, the two would make eye contact for a second, and then Dabney would look down again, and Malcolm would look down, and he’d have problems focusing on anything the Herkabe was saying. And now high school. There’re things… he’ll just… notice. He uses Lucky Aide brand soap that doesn’t smell like anything, but he really likes the way certain aftershaves smell, like cinnamon and rain. And there’s this one guy on the basketball team who always talks to Malcolm, even though Malcolm isn’t even on the team anymore, and whenever someone calls Malcolm “Stain,” he tells them to knock it off. He’ll talk about basketball, and about how really, spitting blood all over someone isn’t a reason to kick someone off the team. And Malcolm really likes the way he smells like cinnamon and rain. Sometimes, his hands will brush up against Malcolm’s, they’ll  _ both _ be too slow to pull away. And when he catches Malcolm grinning at him, he doesn’t threaten to beat him up. Or worse, actually do it. Instead, he asks “what’re you thinking about?” and Malcolm always responds “everything too fast.” Because it’s technically true, and that’s how Malcolm skirts by. 

The most frustrating thing about all of this is that he’s done the research, knows the statistics. Knows the name Kinsey and the term Kinsey scale. Knows how very technically he could apply that to himself. Knows that if he wanted he could go out to a certain neighborhood and find a bookstore wherein he could purchase a pink, purple, blue flag. He won’t, of course. Because that’s the thing, Malcolm knows himself. Knows that even though when he looks down at his hand and imagines his fingers intertwined with another person’s,  _ even though  _ he can look up and see a girl or another guy, he wouldn’t be able to walk into somewhere and say it. 

Malcolm sits at his desk, tapping his pencil against his copy of  _ Gatsby.  _ Honestly, the book sucks- overrated, the symbolism is right there on the page. The eyes of God, really? It’s not even clever. But he thinks he understands Nick, hidden behind ellipses and phallic elevator levers. He gently underlines the paragraph he’s now read exactly 15 times. Lightly, very lightly. This is the school’s copy. He could never bring this up in his English class. Maybe in his old Krelboyne class. He wonders what Herkebe would say, if he brought up how gay it was, really, for Nick to wake up in bed in his underwear with another man. He wonders what Dabney would say. He wonders what his friend from the basketball team would say. He pushes that down, for the moment. Stevie is coming over to work on homework or hang out. Probably both. Maybe if he brings up this passage with him, it could lead to a wider conversation… Malcolm chews at his nails, and sets down his pencil. He wonders if getting something to eat will help him puzzle this out. Because here’s the thing, when presented a question, evidence, and no clear answers, Malcolm can’t help but race along to try to find one. 

He chews the skin around his nail as he wanders into the kitchen. Reese and Dewey sit on the couch, switching the channels. They can’t possibly see what’s on in the five seconds they see it, but it’s two o’clock on a Friday, nothing would be on anyway. Malcolm almost wishes they had school today so maybe then he could at least have a distraction. He reconsiders food, and instead, makes three glasses of chocolate milk. If Reese saw his glass, he would take Malcolm’s, so this was just saving him an extra step. “Dewey, Reese, come here. I’m not carrying yours’.”

Dewey, quick to see what new thing was happening, walks over. “Thanks Malcolm,” he says. He drinks his glass quickly, leaving a mustache, and starts swiping up the leftover syrup with his finger. 

Reese looks over from the couch. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?” asks Malcolm “I made chocolate milk.”

Reese gets up and walks over. “Yeah, and you made Dewey a glass. You only make Dewey a glass when you’re apologizing for something. What’d you do?”

Malcolm flushes. “I’m not apologizing for anything! I made three glasses of chocolate milk because I made three glasses of chocolate milk.” Malcolm realizes he’s shouting, getting too defensive. Reese is, for once, right. Dewey looks back and forth the two of them, first at Malcolm, red and angry, then at Reese, who just looks confused.

“Geez, relax.” Reese slugs him on the arm then grabs his cup. “I guess we’ll find out eventually.”

And Malcolm’s stomach curls in on itself because Reese finding out. Telling Reese. Explaining to Reese that no, Malcolm still likes girls, but yeah, maybe making out with another- Stop. Rephrase. Having to come out to. Okay, that also kind of sucks. He groans, and takes a sip of his milk. Dewey is still looking at him. “Did you do anything?”

“No,” Malcolm says. “I haven’t done anything.” Tense is key. Because he technically hasn’t done anything. “Sorry.”

Dewey looks at him, at Dewey’s now fairly clean glass. Malcolm groans again. What is with him today? Once again, he’s slipped. That’s two apologies, kind of in a row. “Okay,” Dewey says, and follows Reese back over to the couch. 

Malcolm hesitates for a second then follows Dewey. “Stevie’s coming over.” His brothers nod, flipping through channels again. They leave the middle seat open for him, and he sits. He watches the screen change. Stevie’s coming over at 2:45. He checks his watch. It’s 2:40. Reese changes the channel. Malcolm squeezes his legs together. Dewey reaches over Malcolm for the remote, changes the channel. Malcolm knows that, on one hand, his family would probably react with either ambivalence or, at best, quiet support. He very much doubts he would get kicked out over something like this, but he still wonders what would change. Little stuff. Would they save him the middle, or would they want him to sit somewhere else? Would Dewey suddenly get nightmares and ask to switch for Reese, who could beat up the evil guys even in his sleep and suddenly Malcolm will be sleeping in his own bed? 

Reese changes the channel. And of course, on the other hand, his family could be very supportive. Mom has been telling them about their cousin Nancy with two dads with a smile on her face, and nothing they did ever really seemed to faze Dad. He tried to imagine his family at a pride parade. Because if his family is going to be loudly supportive like they’re loud about everything, the odds that he’s going to be taken to a pride parade are frighteningly high. He can see it, too. Mom, rainbows painted onto her face threatening Reese to be on his best behavior, Reese… listening. Flags in his hands instead of him curling them into fists. Dewey, catching beads. Dad, animatedly talking to the couple next to him, the couple asking him if he brought his partner. Dad, shaking his head, saying “No, no,” shuffling Malcolm up to them. “We’re here to support my son.” And Malcolm, because he’s the reason they’re there, holding pink, purple, blue (because if he can tell Mom, he can tell some random cashier at a bookstore). And they watch the parade. Maybe Diana Ross is playing. Malcolm takes another sip of his chocolate milk, and it’s harder to swallow.

Dewey changes the channel. Francis. Would Francis stop talking to Malcom? Would he say things like “stop being such a girl” and really mean it? Would he visit the family when Malcolm is away on trips? Would he invite the family to come visit him but say things like “Malcolm can come if-”? 

Reese grapples Dewey across Malcolm for the remote. Malcolm lifts his milk out of harm’s way. He tries to imagine Francis and Piama at the parade, but it doesn’t really work. Francis lives too far away, has to work, and every trip up he brings Piama, who doesn’t really talk to Malcolm. He’ll figure this out later because he looks down at his watch, and it’s 2:45, and there’s Stevie’s knock. “Get out of my way, I have to get Stevie,” he says, and shoves Reese back. Stevie knocks again. Malcolm opens the door. 

“Hey, Stevie.” He backs up to let Stevie through the door. 

“Hi, Malcolm.” Stevie grins at him. “Did you hear about the homework for biology?”

“No, I haven’t looked at it yet. Why?”

“We’ve already done it. In seventh.”

They’re almost past the couch. Reese snorts. “Dude, I’ve never heard two bigger dorks.”

Malcolm rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a jerk. Will you leave us alone?”

“Who does homework on a Friday?” asks Reese.

“Maybe Mom will let me go over to Stevie’s if she hears that it’s done. I’m trying to think ahead.”

“Well don’t expect me to come anywhere near you. School willingly. On a day off!” And then he reaches over to grab the remote back from Dewey. Malcolm hides his grin.

Malcolm and Stevie make it into his room without any issue. “I am actually trying to do this homework to get to your house.”

“Yeah, and not because there’s going to be a party this weekend and you want to be on good terms with your mom?”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” Malcolm has been invited to the party this weekend. By his friend. From the basketball team. Actually, they’d been talking about swimming pools and his friend had gone red and said “Malcolm, I’m having a party this weekend and it would be really cool if you came.” and Malcolm said “Yeah, that would be awesome.” and his friend said “Malcolm, I really want you to come,” and Malcolm went red and said, “I really want to come.” And his friend said “cool,” and their fingers had brushed together as they gathered their trash from lunch. 

“Sure,” Stevie says.

“As someone who was invited, I’m sure it wouldn’t be a big deal if you came.” 

Stevie raises an eyebrow. “You really want me to put in a good word for you.”

“I mean, yeah,” Malcolm says. “I really want to go to the party?”

Stevie just looks at him. “Have you started  _ The Great Gatsby _ yet?”

“Ugh, yeah. It sucks, right?”

“At least it’s short.”

And here it is, Malcolm’s opportunity. “The party scene was interesting. Where Nick meets Tom’s mistress.”

“Interesting how? You know, Herkebe would kill you if he heard you describe a book as interesting.”

“After it. With Mr. McKee.”

“You have to be more specific. ”

“The… style, I guess,” says Malcolm, and he looks down. “Drop it. I was just thinking.” And unfortunately for him, he knows that Stevie knows his deflections, and now Stevie is thinking about that part of the book, and why someone might find it interesting. Malcolm chews on his pinkie finger. He doesn’t really have nail left to bite, so he just separates the layers, peeling off the top part of the nail. 

“I don’t know. I’d have to look it over again.” And Stevie reaches over Malcolm for the copy. And Malcolm just sits there, because when Stevie flips the pages, the book opens easily to the passage Stevie has in mind. And of course, it’s underlined. He could claim it’s an old school copy, but Stevie knows him. Stevie reads it, quietly. He sets the book back down. Malcolm doesn’t look at him. “Malcolm, there are plenty of ways to read this.”

“How did you read it?”

“Honestly, I didn’t really pay much attention to it.” Stevie clearly has more to say. And Malcolm isn’t going to say it for him. He’s never had that habit. Stevie bites the inside of his cheek. “You did.”

Malcolm’s bright red. He doesn’t meet Stevie’s eyes. There are several ways to respond to this. He can deny it. It won’t be a strong defense. He was the one who brought it up. He was the one who underlined the thing in the book. The book whose spine is worn to the exact page. But he could, and he’s sure Stevie would drop it if he did. He could get defensive. Angry. Stevie would also drop it, but that could result in Reese coming in, which would result badly. It would also end, most likely, in him and Stevie not talking for a while, which was the opposite of what he wanted. He could also just not say anything, not acknowledge. But he was the one who brought it up, and he wants to talk about this with someone else so badly. So he nods, small. “Yeah,” he says. Stevie has to lean forward to hear him. “Yeah, I paid a lot of attention to it.” And his stomach is in such tight knots he has to take slow breaths to get air in, and he’s not even going to look at Stevie. 

The golden afternoon lights up the dust floating around the room. “Malcolm,” breathes Stevie. 

Then Malcolm is talking. “God, Stevie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing I haven’t even, you know. Mostly I just look… not at you. I just think it could be nice to have…” and he puts his face in his hands and keeps talking. “And I still like girls. Girls are great. I’ve had more girlfriends than you have. But even with that I-”

“Malcolm! Stop talking!” Stevie says. Malcolm shuts up. “You don’t have to be sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry for. You haven’t even done anything.”

“Yet.” Malcolm can’t stop himself. 

“You’ve done the research?” asks Stevie. Malcolm nods. “Then you know you can’t be sorry after you’ve done anything either. You are who you are.”Malcolm still stares at his fingers. “Come on, Malcolm. I don’t hate you, if you’re worried. You’re still my best friend.”

Finally, Malcolm looks up. “Yeah?”

Stevie just nods. “Yeah.” And it’s quiet again. Then Stevie says “Do you still want to do homework so you can come over?”

And Malcolm smiles at him. “ I’m almost done, anyway. Like it was even that hard.”

So he and Stevie work quietly. Malcolm finishes his Pre-Calc, his English, his Biology (Stevie was right, they had done it before. It was a decent lab. Will probably be fun to do again). Eventually, Reese wanders in to grab a magazine. “What are you two dorks doing.”

“What does it look like,” says Stevie.

Reese stares at Malcolm, who is still smiling. “I’ve never seen anyone that happy doing homework. You are so weird,” says Reese. He punches Malcolm in the arm on the way out. He shuts the door. A few moments later, there’s yelling from outside.

“Mom’s home. We should go tell her you’re here,” Malcolm says. He gets up, and Stevie follows him. When they get into the kitchen, Lois has her back to them. “Hey Mom. Stevie’s here.” Nice and simple. 

“Hi, Stevie,” says Lois. She turns, drinks from a plastic cup. Malcolm bets ice tea. “What have you and Malcolm been doing?”

“Homework, Mom. Stevie invited me over to his house tonight. Tomorrow too,” says Malcolm. And he knows Stevie is blinking at Lois instead of doing something stupid like look confused, because even if Malcolm has not been invited to Stevie’s house tomorrow night, Stevie will ask tonight, and Abe can’t deny Stevie anything. And Stevie will not pass up the opportunity to go to a party, and it is far easier to sneak out of Stevie’s house since Kitty left. Easier to sneak out of than Malcolm’s house anyway. He’s pretty sure this plan would work.

“Honey, I’m sorry. We need you home tonight. Your father and I have plans and we’re trusting you not to burn down the house. We couldn’t get a sitter to agree to come within thirty feet of the door.”

“Aw, come on, Mom,” Malcolm whines. He can’t overdo it. 

“No, Malcolm. What, do you want us to leave Reese and Dewey by themselves? You’d end up with two fewer brothers.” Lois pauses. “Do not smirk at me. You can have your sleepover tomorrow. If things go well tonight.”

Honestly, Malcolm couldn’t have expected a better compromise. He grins at Stevie. “Fine. Sorry, Stevie.”

“It’s fine.”

Lois scowls. The rest of the night is a rush. Stevie leaves, Hal comes home, Lois puts together dinner for him, Reese, and Dewey. Malcolm sits at the table examining the peas on his plate. “Alright. You boys be good. It’s so rare your father and I ever go out, and we want a chance before the baby comes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Reese. “We’ll be fine.” 

Malcolm nods, takes a bite of potatoes. Thinks of going to the party tomorrow. Hal sighs, herds Lois out of the house. “Be good, boys,” he says. As soon as they’re gone, Reese gets up from the table. 

“Where are you going?” asks Malcolm. 

“Outside. I’m gonna go see if we have any extra-large-super-worms under the garage. I poured some soda in the dirt patch by the door a few days ago so they’d get bigger.”

Malcolm doesn’t want to point out how that would probably just attract ants, and worms are detrivores that don’t drink soda. Reese would find out soon anyway. Dewey follows Reese out. Malcolm raises an eyebrow. Dewey just shrugs. Malcolm finishes his dinner. Of course, they could find worms anyway. Malcolm thinks that might be where Dad dumped the nightcrawlers from when they last tried to go fishing. He pushes that away.

Alone, he can give full attention to the party. He wonders what’s going to happen when he and Stevie show up. His friend from the team could open the door and pull that face that people make when Malcolm shows up after Mom mixes their laundry soap with water for the second time. But his friend’s told Malcolm that he wanted to meet Stevie officially. Really, Malcolm’s brought Stevie up and his friend said “he’s really you’re best friend” without any jealousy. When Malcolm and Stevie show up at his friend’s party, and his friend opens the door and smiles at Malcom and says “Malcolm! Glad you could make it! It honestly sucked without you here. This is Stevie?” what on Earth will Malcolm say back? 

“Yeah, good here too!” No, that sucks. “I really like-” Absolutely not. Instead, he’ll say “Definitely. Yeah, this is Stevie.” And they’ll get to come inside and people will talk to Stevie because maybe the people there are already a little drunk, and Stevie always has an easier time talking to people than Malcolm does. So it’ll be a little easier to split off from Stevie, at least for a few minutes, to talk to his friend by himself. He’s not abandoning Stevie, he’ll make sure Stevie is good before he’s dragged off to a quiet room. Maybe the backyard. And it’s late and hot, but there’s a nice breeze and his friend’s parents like to garden so it smells like soil and green things and maybe his brain isn’t working at 100%. Because it’s a little hot, but his friend is standing close and he’s warm too. And his friend smiles at him. And he’s smiling at his friend. And then Malcolm ruins it by opening his mouth because Malcolm always ruins moments like these. And Malcolm says something like “Hey, I really-” or at least he finally tries to. But at least he finally gets the words out, because-

Unfortunately, Malcolm is shaken out of his daydream by the phone ringing. Malcolm scowls, goes to answer it. He thinks about his daydream, and his stomach kind of hurts. But it’s easier. It’s easier to imagine, it’s easier to want. “Hello?”

“Hey, Malcolm,” says Francis. “Mom or Dad there?”

“No, they went out for the night. Why? Is it an emergency?”

“Not exactly. I needed some medical history for-”

“Thyroid issues on Dad’s side, cancer on Mom’s, if it helps.”

Francis laughs. “Appreciate it, dude. I might call back for some more specific details later.”

Malcolm looks down. “How’s the ranch?”

“It’s alright. There’s a new filly. We named her Sugar.”

“Cool.”

“Well, I kind of have to-”

“Wait, Francis!” Malcolm says. And he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, but he can’t imagine Francis at the pride parade with the rest of his family but he can’t imagine Francis hating him either. So Malcolm does what he does best, open his mouth. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Hypothetically,” says Malcolm. He bites his lip.

“Yeah, man. You know, you have to ask me something first before you can get an answer though.’

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Um. If… someone hypothetically told you he liked guys. But girls too still! What would you say? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

Francis is quiet for a couple of seconds. Malcolm squeezes his eyes shut. Then Francis says, “I don’t know. I would probably tell him it’s chill. His family won’t hate him if that’s what he’s worried about.”

Malcolm’s tongue feels almost stuck, but almost is a qualifier. Very quietly, almost a whisper, he says “I knew that. I asked, hypothetically, what  _ you _ would say.” Francis is quiet again. “I’m sorry. It’s stupid. Forget I said anything. Don’t tell anyone I said anything.”

“Malcom,” Francis says. “I think I’d tell him to probably stop overthinking it.”

“Huh?”

“Just… think about it. Hypothetically. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Have a good night.  _ Love you. _ ” Francis says it almost aggressively.

“You too, Francis.” And Malcolm wants to immediately tell Francis that he’s reading  _ The Great Gatsby,  _ and doing Pre-Calculus already, and he thinks tomorrow he might kiss another guy and that he doesn’t quite know exactly what to do with that, but it’s getting easier to think about. Besides, Francis has already hung up anyways.

Malcolm goes into his room and pulls out  _ Gatsby  _ again. Starts working ahead. Pauses when he starts smiling too wide. He wonders what he’s going to wear. What do… people like him wear? He hears Francis’ voice: “Don’t overthink it. He guesses that means (say it, Malcolm.  _ Bisexual _ . He tests it out loud. “Bisexual”) people wear worn flannels and socks with holes in them because that’s what he is and that’s what he wears. He should shower. Especially after Reese comes in with or without extra-large-super-worms. He can always explain it as his going to Stevie’s house. He wonders if he should do anything special, try shaving or… don’t overthink it. 

See, Malcolm knows himself. Knows that as much as he wants to bite his nails and race through the options and different things he could do, he also knows that he trusts the advice Francis gives him. Because tomorrow is going to be something new, and something fun. And it’s also something terrifying. Rather than push anything down though, he thinks he’s going to try to lean into it. Literally and figuratively. And maybe some of the good things he’s imagined will happen. 

Hands drop a pile of dirt in front of him. Malcolm grabs the book out of the way. Reese grins down at him. Dewey peeks out from behind him, dirt in a suspicious ring around his mouth. “See,” Reese says. “Super-worms.” 

And maybe some of the bad things. Malcolm takes a deep breath. Don’t overthink it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at not-worth-a-bean. This is the longest thing I've written in two years besides academic papers.


End file.
